Chapter Nine
S tanding over the bucking chute, Peyton rubbed her gloved hands together in nothing short of glee as she waited for no less than Liam Neisson himself to ready the bucking strap on the palomino bronc she was slated to ride. His thickly muscled shoulders moved and flexed beneath his chambray shirt. Even bent over the bucking chute, he looked bigger than Drew, but there was no doubting the family resemblance.
Not only had she been lucky enough to arrive back from her and Drew’s zip-line adventure in time to ride, but the horse she’d drawn that morning before they’d headed into town had been switched out for this one. Which wasn’t unusual. These broncs were considered equine athletes, and just like any athlete they sometimes suffered injuries or developed issues that could only be healed with rest.
What was unusual, or at least unexpected, was a horse being replaced by a Wright Ranch bronc. Peyton couldn’t believe her luck. A Wright Ranch bronc named Mustard Gas would surely give her a wild ride.
First the exhilaration of literally zipping down a beautiful mountain, capped off by a pulse-pounding eight-second ride on another Wright Ranch bronc. Definitely a great day. She purposefully ignored the little voice in her head that whispered that it had also been a great day because she’d spent it with a certain cowboy doctor.
She was not even going to think about that. In no small part because he was only following her around because her family had hired him. He considered her an assignment. There was nothing remotely personal between them. And there wouldn’t be. She didn’t need a man to complete her.
Liam fixed blue eyes a shade darker than Drew’s on her, running an unmistakably speculative gaze over her.
Had Drew told his brother about his assignment ?
“You ready?” Liam asked in a voice that shared the same deep timbre as his brother’s.
She pushed aside her suspicion that Liam knew Drew had been tasked with being her keeper. He wasn’t the first stock contractor to give her the wall eye. No way did they want to believe little ’ol her could successfully ride one of their big bad broncs.
She gave him a big fat smile. “Ready, willing, and able.”
A blond brow twitched upward beneath his black cowboy hat.
Peyton redirected her attention to climbing aboard Mustard Gas, who instantly began snorting and flicking his pale cream tail. Doing her best to keep her excitement and anticipation in check, Peyton settled into the saddle, pushed the stirrups as far forward as she could, and leaned back with the bucking rope held high in one hand and wrapped the other around the saddle horn, a concession allowed for her gender. With one last glance at Drew’s brother, watching her as he held the bucking strap at the ready to cinch it tight when the horse left the chute, Peyton nodded.
The chute gate was pulled open and Mustard Gas leapt sideways, clearing the chute and kicking out against the tightening of the bucking strap. Peyton braced for the next explosive kick or leap, but the bronc only gave a series of half-hearted bucks. Each kick of his back legs was punctuated by a very loud, very distinct sound.
It hit Peyton then. Mustard Gas hadn’t been given his name because his bucking style was deadly. He received the name for more literal reasons. Mustard Gas was one flatulent, stinky horse.
Being in no jeopardy whatsoever of getting bucked off, Peyton held on as she held her breath against the very noxious cloud forming around the horse until the buzzer sounded. By the time the pickup riders drew even with them, the bronc was placidly, but still musically, trotting along. Her ride score, half of which was earned by her mount, was going to be garbage. Very, very smelly garbage.
One of the pickup riders easily plucked her from the saddle, reined his unflappable horse to a stop, and set her on the ground.
“Here’s some fresh air for you, ma’am.” He didn’t even try to hide his amusement. She’d been right about Mustard Gas being aptly named.
Starting the seemingly mile-long trudge back to the chutes, she caught sight of Drew on the catwalk patting his brother Liam’s shoulder.
That’s what the phone call up on the mountain had been about. Drew had arranged for her to be matched with a bronc the complete opposite of the rank and dangerous Karen From Finance. The same sort of calmness she always experienced when her family found a new way to trap her indoors and lock away the silver platters she’d used to sled down the front stairs on filled her.
Well played, Dr. Drew. Well played.
Too bad for him she was good at this game. Because when life took away the silver platters, it was time to break out the laundry baskets.
*
A sinking feeling akin to launching himself off the zip line settled in the pit of Drew’s stomach as he watched Peyton walk back toward the catwalk, her well-worn chaps flapping around her shins, her head down. The wide, flat brim of her cowboy hid her face from view, but there was something about the way she tromped through the loose dirt of the arena, taking the long way to steer clear of the mounted drill team charging around the arena to entertain the crowd between rides, that set off alarm bells in his head.
Beside him, Liam said, “I’m thinking you might have just made a tactical error with that one, little brother.”
“Probably. But it couldn’t be helped. As you said, we don’t own any nags.”
Liam turned to look at him. “Care to explain?”
Not really, but Drew knew Liam wouldn’t let the matter slide. He glanced around the busy catwalk to see if anyone was paying any attention to them. No one was. The camera crew and the other lady bronc riders were helping the next woman set up on the bronc one chute down from him and Liam.
Figuring they wouldn’t be overheard, Drew said, “Her family has offered Doc a huge chunk of change for the sports medicine clinic program.”
“A huge chunk?”
Drew nodded. “Yes. Enough for the upgrade it needs and to provide a buffer if any of the rodeos can’t fully afford the program in a given year. It seems they aren’t thrilled with Peyton risking her neck riding broncs. Among other things.”
“But if she covered Karen From Finance, she must be good at bronc riding.”
Drew could only shrug. It didn’t really matter why her family didn’t want her in harm’s way, only that they had the power to affect his future.
“So, they’re using their financial pull to get you to play nursemaid?”
Everyone assumed Liam was nothing more than the muscle of the family, but Drew knew he was obviously so much more. The guy could spot a good horse a mile away, and he could effortlessly settle the rowdiest bronc.
Drew nodded again. “Bingo.”
“Why not just get Grandfather to foot the bill for the clinic so you’re not beholden to anyone outside of the family?”
“That was my first thought when Doc told me what my new assignment was.”
“And?”
“And Grandfather said no. He wants me to fulfill my commitment to the clinic and its patron.”
“Does she know?” Liam tilted his head toward Peyton down in the arena.
Fully aware he’d made a ham-fisted mistake when he’d first approached her, Drew lifted his hat from his head so he could run a hand through his hair. “Yes.” He replaced his hat and gave the brim a tug.
Liam grunted, redirecting his attention to the woman nearing the arena fencing to the left of the bucking chutes. “Well, if she is what I’d assume to be said patron’s golden child, you best find a way to smooth things over. She doesn’t have to be a genius to figure out that you had her mount switched.”
Drew had been fully prepared to weather the storm of Peyton’s anger when he’d first texted Liam. Drew knew from her excitement after riding Karen From Finance how much she valued the challenge of a rank mount. And he was starting to get a feel for how much she disliked being managed in any way. Her avoidance of activities arranged by her executive producer Nat a case in point.
Maybe the small smile he could now see teasing at her mouth was simply because she was, from what he could tell, a generally good-natured person and was taking in stride being paired with a disappointing mount.
Or maybe she was plotting her revenge.
A cold chill passed over Drew.
At that exact moment, Peyton looked up toward the catwalk, and her gaze collided with his. There was no mistaking the distinct glint of purpose in her warm honey eyes.
Yep. She was pissed.
Drew realized he didn’t like being responsible for her anger even more than he disliked the thought of whatever revenge she might cook up.
Liam slapped him on the back. “Good luck with that.” His brother chuckled as he moved away down the catwalk.
Fortunately, thanks to their sister and her best friend Amanda, who was now Liam’s wife, Drew had an idea or two about how to handle a female with her hackles up. The first and foremost tactic would be to begin and end each sentence with yes, ma’am .
He continued to watch Peyton as she reached the metal arena fencing and removed her hat to step through. Her glorious long red hair, still in the low ponytail she’d confined it to so it didn’t catch in the zipline trolley, fell over her shoulder as she bent to step through the fence rails.
Something stirred low in Drew’s belly. Something he was starting to become accustomed to when around Peyton. He studiously ignored it. He didn’t have the time for what might become of his attraction to her. Nor the inclination. She was a risk taker, and he was the poster child for risk adverse.
Though he knew she would be making her way back up to the catwalk to provide assistance to her fellow lady bronc riders, several of whom were watching him and Liam with blatant speculation, Drew made his way to the stairs and hurried down to meet Peyton. If she intended to chew his head off here and now, he’d rather she did it away from the catwalk and out of earshot of the camera crew and other riders.
At the bottom of the stairs, he once again found himself standing between her and her access to the catwalk.
Her attention was clearly on replacing her hat to her head, so Peyton had to pull up short to keep from running into him.
She looked up and smiled. “Oh, hey,” she said with far more nonchalance than he’d expected.
Alarm bells went off in his head. Was this the calm before the storm?
“Did you see that?”
By that he assumed she meant her ride on Mustard Gas. “I did,” he admitted cautiously.
“Talk about a real…dud.”
Drew thought for sure she’d been about to say stinker . Mustard Gas had definitely earned his name from a young age. Drew was pretty sure Liam kept the gelding around for comedy relief.
“Lucky for me, I had an amazing ride yesterday. I might still be okay in the scoring.”
Drew tucked his chin at her lack of heat. Maybe he’d misread her anger after the ride. “I thought this was an exhibition.”
“It is. But we’re all still competitors. Just because the women’s scores only officially count while riding on the circuit back in Texas doesn’t change things when we’re riding together elsewhere. We still keep track.”
Guilt for meddling with her ride crept up the back of Drew’s neck. But just like his growing attraction to her, he ignored it. The end of protecting the clinic’s future justified whatever means he found himself forced to employ.
He nodded vaguely. “Makes sense.”
“Well, I’d better get up there and help the other girls who still have rides coming up. Then after that, I’m going to have to go back to my trailer and hit the hay. Turns out zipping down a mountain is exhausting. A heck of a lot more exhausting than riding Mustard Gas.” She emphasized the word gas , then practically snorted. She batted her thick eyelashes up at him. “Will I see you tomorrow?”
Utterly confused by her seemingly good mood, he stammered, “Uh…uh, sure.”
“Good. Maybe we can find something else fun to do before I have to ride.” She squarely met his gaze, and there was no mistaking the hard glint in her hazel eyes.
And there it was.
She was indeed pissed. And she undoubtedly had a plan to make him pay. His stomach churned as he tried to think of all the possibilities, but he knew there was no way he’d be able to prepare himself for what someone like Peyton Halliday might cook up.
His only choice would be to wait and see.
*
Peyton hadn’t been lying when she’d told Drew Neisson she intended to return to her trailer after the women’s exhibition. Nat hadn’t been happy about Peyton not only missing the meet and greet, but once again skipping the hanging-out-on-the-fence-ogling-the-cowboys part of the evening. But there wasn’t much Nat could do about it. Peyton and her poor-little-rich-girl storyline had the potential for high ratings once the show aired for Nat to risk Peyton quitting the show altogether.
Peyton had been lying about being so tired she intended to hit the hay, however. The need for revenge was burning too hotly in her veins for her to rest. Instead, after the women’s exhibition, she returned to her trailer, peeled off her grimy clothes in favor of her flannel sleep pants and cotton T-shirt, turned out all but her reading light, climbed into bed, and promptly fired up her computer to recheck things to do in the Central Oregon high desert.
She was seriously considering making reservations to rent a surf board so she’d be able to attempt to ride the manmade rapids in the Deschutes River where it ran through nearby Bend when her skin prickled. She set her laptop on the bed and climbed to her knees to peer out the small window above the sleeping nook in the little trailer. After pulling aside the curtain, she saw nothing unusual in the spillover light from the rodeo arena. With the rodeo still going, the noise of the crowd drowned out any sound that would have been enough out of place to draw her attention.
She was about to let the curtain drop when she noticed a tall, broad-shouldered cowboy loitering across the graveled thruway between the rows of competitors’ campers, trailers, and RVs that made up the temporary village.
Drew Neisson.
His strong, tapered back was turned toward her, and his head was up, as if he was trying to discern what was happening within the arena. Did it grate on him that he couldn’t be leaning on the railing, watching with a trained eye for the regrettable but inevitable injuries that occurred within a rodeo arena? He seemed the type who wouldn’t want to slack on his job in any way, shape, or form.
But obviously her father had been clear about what Drew’s job was as long as she was in his neck of the woods.
Peyton let the curtain drop and sat back on her bed. Not only had he crashed their shopping trip and had his brother switch her bronc, but he had the nerve to stand around outside her trailer. Was he making sure she didn’t slip out and…do what? Pick up some ax murderer to bring back to her little trailer?
Anger and a frustration born of years of being smothered sent her bolting from the bed and stomping to the door of her trailer. But her hand froze on the latch. Confronting Drew now would not provide her with the payback she burned for.
She forced herself to retreat back to her bed and resettle her computer on her lap. If Drew wanted to play sentinel, then let him.
Despite a tingling awareness that refused to subside, Peyton kept scrolling through activities available within a reasonable distance of the rodeo grounds. She clicked on a promising link and immediately knew she’d found the perfect revenge for the substitution of Mustard Gas for the bronc she’d originally drawn from the hat. She made notes of the necessary information and shut down her computer.
Regardless of how much she wanted to peek out the window again to see if her babysitter was still hanging around outside her trailer, Peyton forced herself to turn off the light above her bed and crawl beneath the covers. She needed to get to sleep because she fully intended to be up, ready, and waiting on the clinic’s doorstep when Drew arrived for work tomorrow morning.
Then she’d scare the living daylights out of him.